Blaze“The fuck is taking so long?” I mutter, mostly to myself.No one answers.Felix has been pacing the hallway for like thirty minutes straight. Dude looks like he’s about to start ripping his own hair out. His shoes are squeaking against the floor every time he turns—back and forth, back and fucking forth like a trapped animal.Inside the room, it’s quieter. Too quiet.Carlo hasn’t moved in over ten minutes. He’s just sitting there, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the meaning of life or some shit. He hasn’t said a word since the nurse came in to tell us it was time. He looks calm, but I know he’s not. His jaw’s tight, and every now and then his fingers twitch like he’s fighting the urge to do something. Or maybe just trying not to freak the fuck out.Meanwhile, I’m lying on this hospital bed with a goddamn IV in my arm and all these beeping machines hooked up to me like I’m a science project. I can’t stop fidgeting. My fingers keep twitching. My fucking leg
Carlo“Four fuckin’ hours, doc. You sure that’s normal?”My voice sounds like shit, dry and rough from too much pacing and zero fuckin’ sleep. I’m leaning against the wall outside the OR, arms crossed so tight my muscles are starting to cramp. Felix’s long gone—he couldn’t sit still, said he’d come back later. I don’t blame him. It’s hell just waiting. Every fuckin’ second feels like I’m stuck in a pressure cooker.The nurse doesn’t answer. Just tells me again to wait and walks off like I didn’t just ask that for the third goddamn time.So I wait.I keep checking the double doors like Blaze is gonna walk out himself. Dumb. Fuckin’ dumb. He’s cut open, knocked out, leg sliced up while they try to fix something he should’ve handled years ago.I should’ve forced him.I should’ve noticed the limp sooner, the way he tried to hide how bad it was getting. I should’ve dragged his stubborn ass to the hospital myself. But no—I had my head too far up my own shit.Four fuckin’ hours.I don’t sit.
CarloWeeks later.“You still awake?”I look up from my screen, surprised to hear his voice. I didn’t even hear him coming. That’s how focused I’ve been. Blaze is standing by the edge of the living room, leaning on the damn wall like he’s trying to look casual. His steps are slow, but shit—he’s actually walking. No crutches. No help. Just that annoying limp that’s been driving him insane.“You’re climbing stairs now?”He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I see that hint of pride in his eyes. “Yeah, figured I’d surprise you.”I shut the laptop halfway and eye him as he limps closer. There’s this stupid grin on his face like he just won a damn medal.“You should’ve called me.”“For what? I ain’t crippled.”I grunt. Typical Blaze. Always acting like he’s fine when his body’s been through hell and back. I try not to hover too much lately, but fuck, it’s hard.He comes closer and reaches for the laptop on my lap, placing it gently on the table beside the couch. Then he straddles me like it
Carlo“You’re still here?” I mutter, walking into the living room and spotting Felix on the couch like he fucking lives here.He glances at me, smug as ever. “Good morning to you too, Carlo.”I hate his voice. Too calm. Too fucking smug. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s trying to get under my skin on purpose. But I do know better—he is.I walk past him without saying another word. I’m not in the mood for his bullshit, not this early. I head straight for the stairs, checking on Blaze first before I deal with anything else. He’s awake, sitting up in bed with his crutches leaning against the nightstand, flipping through some stupid magazine.His room smells faintly of antiseptic and vanilla—him. The curtains are half-drawn, sunlight slicing through the room in streaks. He looks comfortable, like he’s finally getting used to being home again. There’s something peaceful about that. The kind of peace I don’t get often.“Hey,” he says, eyes lighting up when he sees me. “Thought yo
Blaze“You still think this shit is love, Blaze?” Felix asks, his voice sharp like a damn knife to my ear. “You really gonna keep choosing Carlo over your fucking sanity?”He’s pacing the penthouse like a caged dog, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes wild. It’s just me and him now that Carlo left for that bullshit business trip. The place feels too big. Too quiet. Too fucking cold.I don’t look at him. I just sink into the couch, legs stretched, a glass of whiskey in hand. My body aches. Or maybe it’s just my soul. I don’t fucking know anymore.I roll my eyes, dropping my phone on the armrest. “You’re still on that shit?”“I never left that shit,” he fires back. “Blaze, I’m your best fucking friend. I’ve watched you drown in this toxic-ass mess for too long. I ain’t gonna pretend like I’m cool with it just ‘cause he buys you pretty things and fucks you right.”I stare at him. That silence between us tightens.“I love him,” I say, flat. Like the words don’t even mean shit anymore.Felix sto
Carlo“Where the fuck is he?”That’s the first thing I mutter the moment I walk into the penthouse. I drop my bag by the door and look around like he might be hiding behind the damn curtains. But the place is too clean. Too quiet. The air smells like furniture polish and nothing else. No cologne, no cigarette smoke, no burnt toast from his lazy attempts at breakfast. It’s just empty.“Blaze!” I call out louder this time, my voice bouncing off the damn walls.Nothing.I head into the bedroom, push open the door like I expect him to be passed out on the bed or curled up under the sheets with one of my hoodies like he usually does. But it’s made. Neat. Fucking untouched.“Goddammit.”I check the bathroom. Closet. Balcony. Nothing.I pull out my phone and dial him again. It goes straight to voicemail—again. Just like it’s been all fucking week. I thought maybe his phone was acting up, or maybe he lost it. I even joked about it to myself on the plane, thinking I’d get back, find him half-n
CarloDays pass.Then weeks.Then fucking months.Every morning I wake up hoping he’s on the couch. Hoping I’ll smell his skin again, hear him cussing at the coffee machine. But it’s just silence. Cold, empty fucking silence that echoes louder than a scream.The bed feels too fucking big. I roll to his side every night like a goddamn addict chasing a fix that ain’t there. I breathe into his pillow even though the scent’s faded. I still look for his towel on the bathroom rack. His boots by the door. But all I see is absence.I hire a private investigator. I pay triple to get the best. They come up with nothing. No name, no face, no trace. Like he never fucking existed.I start checking the places we used to hang out—bars, the old underground garage, that beat-up taco truck near Fifth where he always asked for extra hot sauce and never finished the food. I even go back to the last racing ring we chilled at, the one where he nearly punched a mechanic for scratching someone else’s car. I
Carlo“Whiskey. Double shot. Don’t go light.”The bartender doesn’t ask questions. Just pours and slides it over, it’s been a long time I came here but they still treat me like a regular. The glass hits my lips, and it burns like it’s supposed to. I stare at the bar stand where Blaze used to stand, all cocky and full of heat. It’s dead now. Cold. Like someone ripped the fucking soul out of the place.I down another.The club smells different without him here. It’s got that same stale sweat and desperation vibe, but it’s missing the spice. The fire. The fucking heartbeat. And I hate that I came here thinking maybe I could feel close to him. Maybe I’d see a shadow of him in the corners. Dumb shit like that.“You look like you need more than just a drink, man.”The voice comes from behind me. Smooth. Confident. I turn my head and there’s a guy—dark hair, pierced lip, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s offering. I don’t respond right away. Just stare.He’s not Blaze. But he’s got th
Blaze“Dude, that bike looks like it was smashed into a rock, the fall was messy,” Alexi continues to rant as we walk to the shop together, but my feet fucking freeze the moment we get to the front.“Woah, what a fucking handsome rich dude, he looks like the wealthy God from Greek. Damn, I suddenly remember I have a working pussy,” she whispers, eyes wide and stuck to the tall figure casually smoking in front of my shop like he owns the place.“What the hell, Alexi… Thought you were the top and you’re not into ‘dicks’?” I ask, forcing a smile, but the truth is, my stomach is in knots, flipping like it’s on crack.“Yeah, but trying it once with that gorgeous figure is an achievement,” she mutters. I don’t laugh. I can’t even move a fucking muscle.Carlo. That stupidly gorgeous bastard. His shirt is slightly open, tattoos on full display, hair slicked perfectly to the side, fucking polished from head to toe like he belongs in a mafia fantasy. His head’s down, so he hasn’t seen us yet, b
Blaze“You actually suck at this. Move. Let me do it.”Alexi snatches the wrench from my hand like I just committed some kind of sacred sin, and I don’t even fight her on it. I step back, wiping sweat from my neck with the back of my hand, watching her lean over the greasy engine like she owns the damn thing.“You know I’m still recovering from rich-boy trauma, right?” I mutter, lighting a cigarette and squinting at her through the smoke. “Three weeks out and I still flinch every time I see marble floors.”She snorts. “Yeah, well, this ain’t no penthouse, sugar. This is grease, fuel, and freedom. Welcome back to the land of the living.”I smirk a little.Three months. That’s how long it’s been since I walked out of Carlo’s place and didn’t look back. Since I shoved every memory, every fucked-up emotion, and every craving for his touch into a goddamn box and tossed it somewhere far away.This new place? It’s loud, rough, smells like gasoline and old tires, and I fucking love it. I open
Carlo“Whiskey. Double shot. Don’t go light.”The bartender doesn’t ask questions. Just pours and slides it over, it’s been a long time I came here but they still treat me like a regular. The glass hits my lips, and it burns like it’s supposed to. I stare at the bar stand where Blaze used to stand, all cocky and full of heat. It’s dead now. Cold. Like someone ripped the fucking soul out of the place.I down another.The club smells different without him here. It’s got that same stale sweat and desperation vibe, but it’s missing the spice. The fire. The fucking heartbeat. And I hate that I came here thinking maybe I could feel close to him. Maybe I’d see a shadow of him in the corners. Dumb shit like that.“You look like you need more than just a drink, man.”The voice comes from behind me. Smooth. Confident. I turn my head and there’s a guy—dark hair, pierced lip, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s offering. I don’t respond right away. Just stare.He’s not Blaze. But he’s got th
CarloDays pass.Then weeks.Then fucking months.Every morning I wake up hoping he’s on the couch. Hoping I’ll smell his skin again, hear him cussing at the coffee machine. But it’s just silence. Cold, empty fucking silence that echoes louder than a scream.The bed feels too fucking big. I roll to his side every night like a goddamn addict chasing a fix that ain’t there. I breathe into his pillow even though the scent’s faded. I still look for his towel on the bathroom rack. His boots by the door. But all I see is absence.I hire a private investigator. I pay triple to get the best. They come up with nothing. No name, no face, no trace. Like he never fucking existed.I start checking the places we used to hang out—bars, the old underground garage, that beat-up taco truck near Fifth where he always asked for extra hot sauce and never finished the food. I even go back to the last racing ring we chilled at, the one where he nearly punched a mechanic for scratching someone else’s car. I
Carlo“Where the fuck is he?”That’s the first thing I mutter the moment I walk into the penthouse. I drop my bag by the door and look around like he might be hiding behind the damn curtains. But the place is too clean. Too quiet. The air smells like furniture polish and nothing else. No cologne, no cigarette smoke, no burnt toast from his lazy attempts at breakfast. It’s just empty.“Blaze!” I call out louder this time, my voice bouncing off the damn walls.Nothing.I head into the bedroom, push open the door like I expect him to be passed out on the bed or curled up under the sheets with one of my hoodies like he usually does. But it’s made. Neat. Fucking untouched.“Goddammit.”I check the bathroom. Closet. Balcony. Nothing.I pull out my phone and dial him again. It goes straight to voicemail—again. Just like it’s been all fucking week. I thought maybe his phone was acting up, or maybe he lost it. I even joked about it to myself on the plane, thinking I’d get back, find him half-n
Blaze“You still think this shit is love, Blaze?” Felix asks, his voice sharp like a damn knife to my ear. “You really gonna keep choosing Carlo over your fucking sanity?”He’s pacing the penthouse like a caged dog, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes wild. It’s just me and him now that Carlo left for that bullshit business trip. The place feels too big. Too quiet. Too fucking cold.I don’t look at him. I just sink into the couch, legs stretched, a glass of whiskey in hand. My body aches. Or maybe it’s just my soul. I don’t fucking know anymore.I roll my eyes, dropping my phone on the armrest. “You’re still on that shit?”“I never left that shit,” he fires back. “Blaze, I’m your best fucking friend. I’ve watched you drown in this toxic-ass mess for too long. I ain’t gonna pretend like I’m cool with it just ‘cause he buys you pretty things and fucks you right.”I stare at him. That silence between us tightens.“I love him,” I say, flat. Like the words don’t even mean shit anymore.Felix sto
Carlo“You’re still here?” I mutter, walking into the living room and spotting Felix on the couch like he fucking lives here.He glances at me, smug as ever. “Good morning to you too, Carlo.”I hate his voice. Too calm. Too fucking smug. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s trying to get under my skin on purpose. But I do know better—he is.I walk past him without saying another word. I’m not in the mood for his bullshit, not this early. I head straight for the stairs, checking on Blaze first before I deal with anything else. He’s awake, sitting up in bed with his crutches leaning against the nightstand, flipping through some stupid magazine.His room smells faintly of antiseptic and vanilla—him. The curtains are half-drawn, sunlight slicing through the room in streaks. He looks comfortable, like he’s finally getting used to being home again. There’s something peaceful about that. The kind of peace I don’t get often.“Hey,” he says, eyes lighting up when he sees me. “Thought yo
CarloWeeks later.“You still awake?”I look up from my screen, surprised to hear his voice. I didn’t even hear him coming. That’s how focused I’ve been. Blaze is standing by the edge of the living room, leaning on the damn wall like he’s trying to look casual. His steps are slow, but shit—he’s actually walking. No crutches. No help. Just that annoying limp that’s been driving him insane.“You’re climbing stairs now?”He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I see that hint of pride in his eyes. “Yeah, figured I’d surprise you.”I shut the laptop halfway and eye him as he limps closer. There’s this stupid grin on his face like he just won a damn medal.“You should’ve called me.”“For what? I ain’t crippled.”I grunt. Typical Blaze. Always acting like he’s fine when his body’s been through hell and back. I try not to hover too much lately, but fuck, it’s hard.He comes closer and reaches for the laptop on my lap, placing it gently on the table beside the couch. Then he straddles me like it
Carlo“Four fuckin’ hours, doc. You sure that’s normal?”My voice sounds like shit, dry and rough from too much pacing and zero fuckin’ sleep. I’m leaning against the wall outside the OR, arms crossed so tight my muscles are starting to cramp. Felix’s long gone—he couldn’t sit still, said he’d come back later. I don’t blame him. It’s hell just waiting. Every fuckin’ second feels like I’m stuck in a pressure cooker.The nurse doesn’t answer. Just tells me again to wait and walks off like I didn’t just ask that for the third goddamn time.So I wait.I keep checking the double doors like Blaze is gonna walk out himself. Dumb. Fuckin’ dumb. He’s cut open, knocked out, leg sliced up while they try to fix something he should’ve handled years ago.I should’ve forced him.I should’ve noticed the limp sooner, the way he tried to hide how bad it was getting. I should’ve dragged his stubborn ass to the hospital myself. But no—I had my head too far up my own shit.Four fuckin’ hours.I don’t sit.